You don't get an alibi
by iheartrogues
Summary: No, he knows, as he always does, because he can feel the hard knot settled deep in his stomach and it feels a lot like guilt. - Mick/Len. Extremely guilty phone sex porn. Feelings


**Title: **You don't get an alibi

**Word Count: **1,174

**A/N: **This is so inappropriate and I'm a horrible person. Title from Richard Siken's _**You are Jeff**_. Suburban AU.

* * *

He knows it's Len before he even opens his eyes and glances at his cell phone.

Not because he has some ridiculous, special ringtone set specifically for Len. (After Len found out he had it set to _Ice, Ice Baby_, he threw it across the room.) No, he knows, as he always does, because he can feel the hard knot settled deep in his stomach and it feels a lot like guilt.

Mick sighs and lets the call go to voicemail. When he hears the little _ding-ding _of his phone letting him know that Len's left a message, he relaxes.

Then the bastard calls back.

Mick finally cracks an eye open and sleepily glares at the phone over his shoulder. He shifts and wriggles his way out from under Kimberly and stumbles out of bed, groping the nightstand until his hand finally closes around the phone and he can flip it open.

"What?" he hisses and shuts the bathroom door with a little more force than necessary.

He can hear Len breathing thickly on the other end. He doesn't say anything, but Mick hears the _swish_ when he takes a drink and he sighs and slides down to the floor. It's that kind of night then.

"_Len_."

"Hey."

Mick smiles and rolls his head against the wall. "What do you want, Len?" And there's an ugly little voice in Mick's head that says '_you know what he wants'_ and Mick pinches his ankle and shakes his head because it was just the one time and he doesn't have to worry about that sort of thing anymore.

He wonders what horrible mixture of alcohol and more alcohol Len's drinking this time.

"Are you-"

"I miss you."

Mick blinks and looks up at the doorknob just to make sure the door's still locked. It is. He hates it when Len cuts him off like that.

He crawls across the bathroom floor and peers out of the blinds toward Len's house. "You live right across the street." There aren't any lights on in the house. "I see you every day." He'd just seen him a few hours ago, mowing the lawn. He always mowed on Fridays.

Len makes a noise somewhere between a scoff and a sigh. "That's not what I mean." _And you know it. _He makes another little noise and this time it sounds a lot more like a sigh. "What are you wearing?"

Mick tenses up and stares hard at the bathroom doorknob. "I'm not going to play this game with you." He knows the knob isn't turning. He knows his wife is still asleep in their bed. He knows that he's just talking to a friend on the phone and that the door doesn't even need to be locked because he's not doing anything _wrong_. (But he _is._)

Len is shifting and then he hums. "Boxers?" It wasn't really a question. "Probably a t-shirt, too. Take it off." Mick pinches his ankle again and doesn't say anything. He's kind of afraid to open his mouth.

He wants to hang up. He wants to punch Len in his fucking face.

He sets his phone down very carefully and pulls his t-shirt over his head. He remembers looking out of the window this afternoon just in time to see Len peel his shirt off and toss it onto the fence. He wonders if Len knew.

The wall is cool against his back and he smacks his head against it a few times before picking his phone back up. Len chuckles and Mick closes his eyes and counts and twists his wedding ring with his thumb.

Len is making these soft growls into his ear and Mick_remembers _those growls and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from moaning, but he knows that Len can hear him breathing and that it's shaky and he shudders and slides a little further down, until he's slouching.

Len's phone makes little** cloncking** protests as he adjusts his grip. "Fuck. I want-"He spits (into his hand, no doubt) and it's_obscene_ and Mick slams his head back against the wall and that's it, he _breaks._

He's playing this game and he's already lost.

"What?" he gasps into the phone. He can't _breathe_. "What do you want?" Because this is Len. Len who's cold and pretends he doesn't have any feelings and he's always alone and Mick loves him so much and there's nothing either of them can do about it and if he can just give him this one thing-

He slides his wedding band off and sets it on the window sill. He doesn't need it right now.

Len whines and God, _Len _is _whining._ "I can… can I…"

"Yeah," Mick says and has no idea what he's agreeing to. "Yes."

"You could-"he break off and curses. "I'd let you fuck me."_Again_.

And Mick nods and swallows and nods again. "Yeah, just." He doesn't want to touch himself, but he's sliding his shorts off anyway. Why, he wonders, are they like this? Always wanting what they can't have.

Len is quiet and Mick holds his breathe and tilts his own mouth away from the receiver and _listens _as Len's breath _hitches_. He knows what that sounds means and he shudders and licks his lips.

Len is so _quiet_. Mick pushes his head against the wall and closes his eyes, "How many fingers?"

Len moans a little, "Two."

"Use three."

Len grunts and then he's silent again, so Mick says, "Good boy." And "Do you like being fucked?" and Len half-laughs, half-moans and Mick grins. "Talk to me."

Len makes a hurt noise and then he says, "Wish you were here." Mick tenses. "You could be here," Len continues and he sounds breathless, like he's run a mile, like he's run halfway across the world just to moan in Mick's ear.

They're both silent after that. Mick pulls one leg up a little and sprawls his other leg to the side and runs his hand over his cock to the same tempo as Len's breathing.

He's trying not to moan, but he's still making little, drawn out sounds and Len sighs in response.

Mick opens his eyes. "I can't." And Len chokes a little and then moans, long and loud and so lost and Mick knows what he looks like when he comes, had managed to make him do so three times (not that they ever spoke about that again), knows how he squeezes his eyes shut and his body seizes and then _quakes._

Mick's own orgasm manages to sneak up on him and he has to bite into his forearm to shut himself up while he shakes through it.

When he manages to get his breath back, Len is still in his ear and there's another _swish _of alcohol_._

Mick yanks a towel off the rack and wipes himself off, "Well."

"I love you."

Mick blinks at the linoleum floor of his bathroom. He knows what he wants to say.

"Good night, Len."

_Click._


End file.
